


tonight, tomorrow, tonight

by rosekings



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, and it’s basically canon compliant if you think the way i do, it’s a confession fic yall, scenes/missing scenes from tdc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-03-26 21:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13865934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosekings/pseuds/rosekings
Summary: "You're fidgeting," Newt notes. Thomas looks down - his toes are curling and uncurling in the sand and his fingers are twisted around each other. "Nervous?"Thomas shrugs. After a few moments of silence, he voices the fear that's been racketing around his mind ever since they agreed on this madness. "What if we don't get him?"





	1. waves

"Big day tomorrow, Tommy."

Thomas looks up from his feet buried in the sand to Newt, standing beside him after a silent approach from who knows where. The moonlight shines on his hair, illuminating it to a soft silver that Thomas never gets tired of seeing, because it means Newt is here and alive and _with him._

"Yeah."

Newt sits down next to him in the sand and stares straight ahead at the expanse before them. Thomas turns back to the glimmering ocean. In the far left of his eyesight, the giant ship that they've spent weeks working on sits tied to the dock, the soft waves slapping against the sides. The rest of the camp has already gone to bed, due to Vince's paranoia leading him to cut the power earlier than usual. Thomas should feel at ease, what with the waves and the sand and now Newt's soft breathing beside him, but he doesn't. He feels like there's a bug inside his head that won't stop buzzing around. He's restless.

"You're fidgeting," Newt notes. Thomas looks down - his toes are curling and uncurling in the sand and his fingers are twisted around each other. "Nervous?"

Thomas shrugs. After a few moments of silence, he voices the fear that's been racketing around his mind ever since they agreed on this madness. "What if we don't get him?"

Newt sighs, pushing a boot around in the sand. "We're gonna get him."

"How do you know?"

Newt raises his head to look at Thomas. "Because every plan you've ever had has worked out, Thomas. It isn't rocket science. You come up with an insane idea, we work out the kinks, and then we do it. And they've all worked. You got us out of the Maze and away from the Scorch and tomorrow we're going to rescue Minho."

"But how many people died to get us this far?"

In Thomas's periphery he sees Newt shake his head.

"You can't do that to yourself. Trust me, I've had my fair share of survivor's guilt. But you know they wouldn't have wanted that. Chuck, Winston, Alby, and all the others - they knew what they were signing up for. They agreed to follow you anywhere, and they did, precisely so _you_ could make it to the finish line, Thomas."

Thomas stares at the gentle waves that lap up on the beach just a few feet in front of him and he knows that Newt is right. It's just _so hard_ to have any semblance of hope when there has been nothing but hurt and loss for as long as he can remember. It's like racing towards the end of a rainbow only to have it move just an inch farther out of your reach every time you think you've made it. "We have one shot at this, Newt. _One._ What happens if we screw it up? What happens if we got something wrong or he isn't there or they find us and take us back or -"

"Tommy. It'll be fine." Newt places a hand on Thomas's shoulder and something in his heart softens. "Good that?"

Thomas sighs, twisting his fingers together again. "Yeah, good that, I guess."

Newt nods and takes his hand away. They sit in silence for a few minutes, but the bug is still in Thomas's head - the rainbow is still just a stone's throw away from him. He can't get his mind off of all the ways tomorrow could go wrong and how the hell they would ever recover from a hit like that. Finally, fed up with frustration, he gets to his feet and wades straight into the water. He's already barefoot but it immediately soaks through his pants, first at his ankles and then up to his knees as he walks deeper.

"Don't tell me you're off to drown yourself," Newt calls from the beach.

"Not today," Thomas answers, stopping when the warm saltwater comes up to his chest. He turns around to look at Newt and waves an arm. "Come on."

Newt crinkles his eyebrows in a way that Thomas never fails to notice. "Out there?"

"Yeah."

"You want me to get soaking wet in the middle of the night just because you're feeling sad?"

Thomas shrugs. "You don't have to."

Newt stares at him. Thomas stares back. Eventually, he relents and shucks off his boots and socks, wading in towards him. Thomas grins as he gets closer and his string of swearing under his breath becomes audible.

"You owe me," Newt says once they're face-to-face. 

"I know."

"What the bloody hell are we even doing out here, Tommy?"

But Thomas finds himself unable to answer. He's staring at Newt and his soft hair and his sparkling eyes and he isn't thinking about tomorrow anymore, he's thinking about how the boy in front of him is the best thing that's ever happened to him.

Between the Maze and the Scorch, feelings weren't something that Thomas dwelled on. He didn't have even a moment to stop and think about how he felt towards his friends. But as things slowed down over the last six months, he noticed his involuntary pull towards Newt, his ease when they were together, his stress when they were separated. At first he dismissed it as normal friend feelings, but when he realized he didn't have those feelings towards Teresa, a girl he thought he loved, or Brenda, a girl he _could_ love, he figured it out. It took him a while, but he figured it out. He just never found out if Newt felt the same. 

"Tommy?"

Thomas swallows, pulling himself back to the present. "What?"

Newt laughs. "Where'd you go?"

"I..." The words die in his throat. Since he doesn't really want to make a fool of himself and say something stupid (though he usually manages to anyways) he shoves his hands against the water, drenching Newt in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. Newt freezes, slowly wiping his hair out of his face. When his eyes meet Thomas's, they're full of promising malice.

"You asked for it, _Greenie._ "

He lunges at Thomas and Thomas yelps, stumbling backwards as Newt relentlessly splashes water at him. He loses his footing and plunges underwater, momentarily disoriented until a hand grabs his shirt and hauls him up. He sucks in a breath and blinks the water out of his eyes. Newt's directly in front of him, so close that Thomas can feel his body warmth. He still has his hand wrapped up in Thomas's shirt, just barely under the water.

"Alright there?"

"Just a second ago you were drowning me and now you're asking if I'm okay?"

"Would you rather I push you under again?"

Thomas grins, which is enough to coax a smile out of the other boy. It sends a bolt of joy through his heart, knowing that he made Newt smile, that he made Newt happy enough to forget the horror around them for just a minute. And then the words are spilling out of his mouth in a whisper before he can even think about what he's saying. He just knows that it's true, and if he doesn't say it soon he's going to implode. 

"I love you."

Newt's grip on him slackens and his smile fades, replaced with something more intense. The regret hits Thomas immediately. _What the hell were you thinking? Oh, that's right - you weren't, dumbass._

"Sorry - sorry, I just - I -"

But Newt shakes his head, drags them as close together as possible by Thomas's shirt, and presses their lips together.

 _Oh._ A star explodes in Thomas's chest as he realizes that Newt is _kissing him._ All the thoughts of tomorrow and the days afterward are gone from his mind. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, doesn't know if he's doing anything right, but it feels fantastic and he's putting all the love he's developed over the past year into it. His heart has turned into a mess and Newt's fingernails are digging into his shoulder and he thinks his knees are liable to buckle at any given moment, but _none_ of it matters at _all._

Newt pulls away to breathe after what seems like an eternity. Thomas stares at him, his pulse going a million miles an hour.

"Say it again," Newt whispers, pressing his forehead to Thomas's. Thomas raises a hand to brush Newt's wet hair away from his face.

"I love you." Saying it makes him feel so giddy and he can see Newt's smile growing wider. "I love you so much, Newt. I love you, I love you, _I love you._ "

Newt's fingers tighten around Thomas's shirt, and Thomas can't tell if it's saltwater or tears tracking down his cheeks. "I love you too, Tommy. No matter what happens, ever. I love you."

* * *

They stay wrapped up in each other until the warmth of the ocean seeps away and their hair starts to freeze. Eventually they trudge back to the beach, streams of water rolling off of them onto the sand. Thomas looks at Newt in the moonlight, still barely able to comprehend that this boy would give his heart to _him._

"Tomorrow's gonna be okay. You know that, right?" Newt says, picking up his boots.

Thomas nods. "Yeah." Somehow, everything seems like it's going to be okay right then.

Newt looks at him once more, unable to shake his grin. If he's smiling this big, Thomas can't imagine what his own face looks like.

"Goodnight, Tommy."

"Night, Newt."


	2. fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE NEWTMAS FLUFF CAUSE WE'RE ALL IN DENIAL
> 
> a rewrite of chapter one, this time in Newt's POV, for the lovely person that requested it!

Newt has been staring at Thomas over the glow of a dying bonfire for the better part of the last two hours. Thomas hasn't noticed at all - he's kept his head down, tracing patterns in the sand as he turns something over in his mind. Vince killed the power some time ago and so the camp's inhabitants slowly dispersed to their hammocks. Up until the last twenty minutes it was just Newt and Thomas, silently existing within each other's presence. Then Thomas got up without a word and trekked down to the beach, taking a seat in the sand just above the waterline. Newt almost opened his mouth to say something but decided against it, knowing exactly what Thomas was worrying about: tomorrow. Hell, who wasn't? 

Eventually it turns too cold to devote any more time to the decayed bonfire, so Newt gets to his feet and douses a bucket of water onto the coals. He quietly makes his way down to the beach where Thomas sits, a mere silhouette in the moonlight.

"Big day tomorrow, Tommy."

Thomas looks up absently, nodding his head. "Yeah." 

Newt sits down beside him, just close enough so their arms are brushing. He tries to ignore it, instead gazing out at the black ocean illuminated by the moon. He can _feel_ the agitation radiating off of Thomas, can see it in the way his hands are picking up piles of sand and letting them run through his fingers. 

"You're fidgeting," he says, watching Thomas's bare feet curl around the sand. "Nervous?"

Thomas just shrugs. "What if we don't get him?" he finally says, his voice full of despair.

 _You don't think I've asked that same question?_ But Newt can't say that, can't show any worry because if the facade he's held for the past year cracks for even a second, it will drive a spear straight through any remains of Thomas's confidence. 

"We're gonna get him," he answers instead, dragging the tip of his boot back and forth through the sand. 

"How do you know?"

Newt lifts his eyes, carefully taking in every detail of Thomas's face. Sometimes he wonders if he knows the boy across from him better than himself. "Because every plan you've ever had has worked out, Thomas. It isn't rocket science." _Look at me. Believe me._ "You come up with an insane idea, we work out the kinks, and then we do it. And they've all worked. You got us out of the Maze and away from the Scorch and tomorrow we're going to rescue Minho."

"But how many people died to get us this far?"

Newt shakes his head, having already gone through this conversation with himself. "You can't do that to yourself. Trust me, I've had my fair share of survivor's guilt. But you know they wouldn't have wanted that. Chuck, Winston, Alby, and all the others - they knew what they were signing up for. They agreed to follow you anywhere, and they did, precisely so _you_ could make it to the finish line, Thomas." _Believe me. You have to believe me, because if you don't, I can't believe myself._

Thomas doesn't respond. Newt drags his gaze away and focuses on the waves that are stretching out towards them, almost touching them but then receding at the last second. He can't imagine what they'll do if they don't get Minho tomorrow; it's a possibility that he has barely let cross his mind. Losing his best friend was bad enough, but Newt knows that Thomas's unflinching determination will disintegrate if they fail. It would be a blow that the camp may never recover from. 

"We have one shot at this, Newt. _One._ What happens if we screw it up? What happens if we got something wrong or he isn't there or they find us and take us back or -"

"Tommy. It'll be fine." Newt gently rests a hand on Thomas's shoulder, trying to convey all of his emotions through that one gesture. "Good that?"

Thomas sighs. "Yeah, good that, I guess."

Newt knows it's a lie before Thomas even says it. Nevertheless, he removes his hand and they lapse into silence, accompanied only by the waves. Occasionally he glances over, watching Thomas's eyes work through the turmoil in his head, and he wonders if Thomas knows how much he loves him.

Newt never really questioned that fact, those words. Ever since the moment he agreed to run headfirst into the Scorch with Thomas and no idea where they were going or what they were doing, he knew that _this_ was who he wanted to follow. _This_ was who he wanted to live for, because Thomas gave him hope, and he hadn't felt hope for as long as he could remember. Sometimes he wishes he didn't care so much because it's just one more thing for him to lose, one more thing that can be torn away from him at any given moment.

He's dwelling over these thoughts and the ache in his heart when Thomas abruptly stands up and walks straight into the ocean's black depths, clothes and all.

"Don't tell me you're off to drown yourself," Newt says, watching amusedly. 

"Not today." Thomas finally stops when the water reaches his chest. He turns to Newt, waving an arm. "Come on."

Newt stares at him. "Out there?"

"Yeah."

"You want me to get soaking wet in the middle of the night just because you're feeling sad?"

Thomas lifts his shoulders, looking slightly crestfallen. "You don't have to."

Newt holds out for just a moment longer, because he wants to have some semblance of dignity and not act like the heartsick fool he really is. Finally he yanks off his boots and socks and steps into the water, swearing as it seeps through his clothes. 

"You owe me," he says, finally coming to a stop when he's just feet away from Thomas. Thomas is grinning so wide that Newt is pretty sure a part of his heart melts at seeing it. 

"I know."

"What the bloody hell are we even doing out here, Tommy?"

Thomas opens his mouth to respond but he falters as his mind drags him somewhere else for a moment. Newt almost laughs, stepping just a bit closer.

"Tommy?" he whispers, so quietly that he barely even hears himself. 

Thomas blinks, refocusing on Newt. "What?"

"Where'd you go?"

"I…" Whatever it was that Thomas was going to say, it gets lost in transit. A smile ghosts across his lips and before Newt knows it, there's a spray of warm saltwater in his face and he's soaked from head to toe. He suppresses his laughter, slowly brushing his dripping hair away from his eyes. Thomas raises an eyebrow as if to say _what are you going to do about it?_

"You asked for it, _Greenie._ "

Newt lunges, splashing water at him with as much force as he can muster. Thomas reels backwards, laughing and spitting at the same time until he trips, yells, and falls underwater in quick succession. Newt waits just a second, then reaches down and fumbles under the surface until his fingers grasp a handful of Thomas's shirt. He drags him up, pointedly ignoring the kick in his pulse at their proximity. Thomas blinks the water out of his eyes and finally looks at Newt.

"Alright there?" Newt asks.

"Just a second ago you were drowning me and now you're asking if I'm okay?"

"Would you rather I push you under again?"

Thomas's face splits into another one of his irrepressible grins and Newt forgets everything around them - he forgets Minho and WCKD and the Safe Haven and he just _smiles._ His mind is playing _Thomasthomasthomastommytommytommy_ on a loop and it's making it hard to focus. He sees something in Thomas's eyes change, but he doesn't have time to figure out what, because -

"I love you."

Newt's entire being shudders to a standstill. _What?_ His brain falters, trying to process what just happened and why it happened and if it even _did_ happen, but he's taking too long because a look of self-horror has replaced Thomas's elation. 

"Sorry - sorry, I just - I -"

_Wait. WaitwaitwaitwaitWAIT._

Newt finally catches up. He shakes his head and reaffirms his grip on Thomas's shirt, pulling them as close together as possible to kiss him with all the love he's got.

A supernova erupts inside Newt and everything slams into overdrive. Thomas responds immediately and Newt wraps his free arm around Thomas's shoulders, trying to get them closer, closer, _closer,_ trying to convey just how much he's wanted this, _needed_ this. He's never loved someone this much before, never had something so important to lose, but he's _trying_ and Thomas is _here_ and he's reciprocating and it's more than enough. It's _so much more_ than enough. 

Eventually, oxygen becomes a need and Newt reluctantly pulls his mouth away, pressing their foreheads together instead. Thomas takes a deep breath, his fingers tracing the back of Newt's neck. 

"Say it again," Newt whispers. He's pretty sure the ground is tilting under them. Thomas gently brushes Newt's soaking wet hair away from his eyes so they can see each other properly. 

"I love you." The words fill the space between them and Newt feels his smile grow in time with his heart. "I love you so much, Newt." Thomas says it fiercely, as if he's determined to make Newt believe it. "I love you, I love you, _I love you._ "

Newt has Thomas's shirt gripped so tightly in his hand his fingers are numb. He doesn't know if he's crying or laughing or both. He's got a million thoughts going through his head, and in time, maybe he can say all of them out loud, but right now he only has to give voice to one of them. "I love you too, Tommy. No matter what happens, ever. I love you."

* * *

They only separate when they've used up all the warmth in the ocean. Faces flushed and and hair frozen, they finally drag themselves back to the beach. The world is still spinning, the stars wheeling around like they're caught in a dream (Newt isn't entirely sure that he's not).

He picks up his boots, looking at Thomas in the silvery moonlight. "Tomorrow's gonna be okay. You know that, right?"

"Yeah." This time, Thomas looks like he believes it. 

Newt takes a deep breath, unable to shake his smile, and Thomas stares at him with that ridiculous face-splitting grin. _He loves me._

"Goodnight, Tommy."

"Night, Newt."


	3. train

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK
> 
> apparently there is a deleted scene from tdc, a scene set after they fail to rescue minho. i haven't seen it yet and i don't really know anything about it, so it's not taken into consideration here.
> 
> just to clarify, all characters, scenes, dialogue, references, etc. included here that _also_ appear in the books/movies belong to the original creators.

_Meet Brenda and Jorge. Get on the train with Vince. Blow up the coupling. Get Newt and the guys. Find Minho’s car. Attach the Berg cables. Get the hell out._

Their plan is simple enough. Thomas can recite it in his sleep at this point. And now that he’s on top of a moving train, he’s just going through the motions. No time to think or second-guess anything.

He swings himself onto the side ladder just seconds before Vince’s Semtex goes off with a heated blast, shattering the link between one half of the train and the other. A loud screeching indicates the back half’s automatic braking system kicking in and Thomas watches with satisfaction as the front half disconnects and heads onward. He jumps to the ground, running to a stop with their hijacked portion.

_Halfway there._ God only knows how Brenda and Jorge are doing.

He looks to the desert and lets out a piercing whistle. It takes everything in himself to stay focused as Newt appears from behind his rock, looking way too eager for a high-stakes kidnapping operation. Vince waves them over and the next phase of their plan begins.

He slams his fists on the train car closest to him, yelling Minho’s name as loud as he can. An overwhelming anticipation washes over him when he hears Minho’s voice ringing out amongst all the shouts. He hates that they can’t take all of them, can’t save all these kids, but his promise was to his friend first.

“This one,” he says to Newt, who has come up next to him in full welding gear. “This one!”

They’re so close, he can _see_ their victory on the horizon. He can feel it, like a tightrope that he’s almost reached the other side of.

“Shit,” Vince mutters. The soldiers are on the ground now, guns in hand, heading for them. “It’s gonna be close.”

Thomas doesn’t have time for worrying. Only time for doing. He scrambles on top of the car with Vince and starts attaching cables as Newt and the boys burn through the welding. 

“Newt, how you doing?” he calls, glancing down. He still can’t fully believe what’s happened between the two of them – Newt _loves him._ It makes him dizzy every time he thinks about it. 

_Now is not the time, dumbass._

“Don’t rush me.”

He bites back a grin.

Inevitably, the shooting starts, a little sooner than he would have liked. _Just give Newt time. More time._

Gunfire. Loud and popping and incessant, traded with black-clothed WCKD guards.

“Newt, get up here!”

“Almost there.”

Jorge’s not here yet, and the guards are too close. Vince jumps down to lay cover fire just as Newt and the boys finish. They climb up top and amidst the autopilot, Thomas feels a wave of relief now that Newt is back next to him, as safe as they can get right now.

“Where the hell are they?” Newt grumbles, searching the sky.

“I don’t know!”

_Come on, Jorge._

More gunfire. Snap, snap, snap. Somewhere in the back of his head, Thomas knows he should feel guilty, bad, disgusted with himself for all the life he’s taking, has taken. Usually he does, but at the moment, he can’t afford to.

Then, in the sky, the roaring of their rescue: the Berg, commandeered by Brenda, Jorge, Frypan, and Harriet. _Thank god._

The next sixty seconds are a blur in Thomas’ mind. There’s a hook, cables, yelling at Fry. More shooting. Yelling at Vince. A dangerous swaying as Jorge veers up and the train car lifts off its detached frame.

And then they’re gone. Up and away, flying through the air with Minho and a hundred other kids. Their job is finished.

The euphoria sweeping through Thomas is immense and unstoppable, coupled with the pride of finally having met their goal after six long, fruitless months. He turns around and sees Newt, and he glimpses bright, unbridled elation and relief on his face before he pulls him into a hug.

“We did it,” Newt laughs into his shoulder. Thomas grins. 

“Yeah, we did.”

They’re going home.

 

“He’s not here.”

A heavy and sinking cold rolls through what feels like the entire train car at his words. He looks at Newt, and the devastation in his eyes makes Thomas’ stomach clench. Minho isn’t here. Sonya and Aris, yes, bloody and bruised, but no Minho. _No Minho._

_It’s not the end of the world,_ Thomas tries to tell himself. _We’ll just get him on the next train._

But they’ve been planning this for almost two months. He knows just as well as Newt does that there won’t be another train.

Members of the camp start to pour in to help liberate the rest of the kids so Thomas and Newt shoulder out of the car in silence. The bright sunshine suddenly feels out of place, the ocean at the edge of the camp too blue and the mood still too cheery.

All their planning, all their arguing and scouting and breakthroughs – all for nothing. 

Newt mutters something about needing a walk and he drifts away before Thomas can say anything. He feels how Newt looks: hollow. 

He numbly listens to Vince’s supposedly rousing welcome speech and he’s still empty when he walks away. He passes Brenda, but there’s nothing they can say to each other, so he keeps going. He’s directionless as he wanders the paths of their makeshift town, and it’s only when he sees Newt again, standing outside one of the stone houses, that he finds something to latch onto.

“Sonya and Aris want to talk to us,” Newt says, gesturing to the squat building next to him. Thomas nods. His feet feel like two ton weights with every step he takes. 

 

It gets worse when Aris tells them that Minho was on the train. It might have been more bearable if he wasn’t.

Once Sonya and Aris have spilled everything they know, Harriet insists they need rest and kicks Thomas, Newt, and Brenda out. Thomas goes wherever his feet feel like taking him and he finds himself back at the beach, staring vacantly at the waves that rush into shore only to be sucked back out again.

He didn’t just fail Minho today. He failed Frypan and Newt. Both of them are more of Minho’s friend than Thomas ever has been, and the guilt of his failure resonates heavily in his gut.

Uneven footsteps from behind tell him exactly who has followed him down. He shoves his hands deep in his pockets as Newt comes to a stop next to him, close enough that their shoulders are brushing.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Newt says, staring out at the horizon as he crosses his arms over his chest. Thomas glances over at him.

“What?”

“That this is your fault.”

Thomas sighs, dropping his eyes to the sand. Either he’s a very open book, or Newt knows him better than he knows himself. Probably both. “How is it _not,_ Newt? I was the one who had to choose the train car. That whole decision was on me.”

“It’s a mistake anyone could have made, Tommy. If it were me, I probably would have done the exact same thing.” Newt looks over at him. “I don’t blame you for it.”

A long minute passes, filled with the cresting of the waves, and Thomas finally lifts his head. “I don’t know where to go from here,” he admits quietly.

Newt’s eyes soften, but he doesn’t say anything.

“We have no more leads, no more information. That was our only shot at getting him back.”

“That’s not entirely true. You heard what Aris and the girls said about the city.”

Thomas gives him a tired look. “Yeah, they said it wasn’t _standing._ None of them are, apparently.”

Newt sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. Thomas notes that it’s grown out quite a bit over the past few months, all light and golden.

“I don’t know, Newt,” he says, chewing on his lip out of nervous habit. “Is there a line somewhere? Isn’t there a point where it becomes too selfish to keep putting Minho over Vince and all these kids? Have we reached it yet?”

Newt looks at him in dismay, his eyes wide. “You’re not bloody giving up.”

“We have next to nothing,” Thomas says helplessly. “I have no idea what to do now, I don’t know where to go or how to get there, I don’t –“

Newt cuts him off with a shake of his head. “I don’t care.”

Thomas frowns. “What?”

“I have meant everything I’ve ever said to you, Thomas. When we were in the middle of the Scorch, lost and hopeless, I told you that I wasn’t going to let you give up. I meant every word of that. Last night? I meant that too. I love you, and I love you because you have never given up, not for a single second. You keep pushing and moving and you have never let me down and you have _never_ stopped fighting for what you know is right. _That’s_ why I love you, and _that’s_ why I will follow you to the ends of this earth without question. I will be at your side with whatever plan you decide on but you and I both know that Minho would never, _ever_ give up on us. He wouldn’t, so we can’t give up on him, Tommy. We _can’t._ ”

He swallows when he finishes, taking a deep breath, and with the swell of love Thomas feels in his chest he also feels hope, flickering back to life again.

“You’re right,” he says. “He wouldn’t give up on us.”

Newt nods. “No, he wouldn’t.”

Thomas exhales through pursed lips, staring at Newt as his gears take that hope and use it as gasoline. “Okay. We can make this work. We can figure this out.” He pauses, a smile pulling at his mouth. “You’d really follow me anywhere?”

Newt laughs. “What, do you not believe me?”

“Of course I do, I just –“

Newt pulls Thomas’ hand from his pocket and tugs him closer, sliding an arm around his waist. “Yes. I really would.”

His heart stutters, very predictably. “Okay,” he breathes, pressing his forehead against Newt’s. “I love you. Just in case you didn’t get the message last night.”

“I did,” Newt laughs.

“Good.” Thomas wants to say and do a hundred different things, but Newt has already put his mind back into motion. “I need a map.”

 

They relocate to the kitchen building, where Frypan is dejectedly starting dinner for the camp. When they tell him that they’re not stopping though, they’re not giving up, Fry’s eyes light up with that same flicker of hope that Thomas felt earlier, and he agrees to keep everyone away from the kitchen while they plan.

The sun goes down while they’re there, hunched over the stone island, maps and notes spread in front of them. Fry makes them food as they work. It takes a lot of comparison and correlation, scrapped ideas and frustrated groans, but eventually, they come up with a very possible location of the city and a halfway decent plan. Thomas knows it’s a lot of speculation, given that they have no idea what shape the city is in, but if they move fast it could work, and he can’t quit now.

“Vince is going to be hard to get on board,” Thomas says once they finish going over it, looking up at Newt worriedly. Newt runs his tongue along his teeth in thought.

“Maybe,” he finally says.

“He could make or break this –“

Newt leans over the stone slab, his hands coming up to frame Thomas’ face as he kisses him, hard and fast and determined. It’s the first time he’s done so since last night, and Thomas is dizzy and breathless by the time he pulls away, his jaw set.

“Don’t worry about Vince, alright?”

Thomas nods, unable to do much else, and Newt smiles.

“Okay,” he says, lowering his hands. “Good that.”

“I knew you shanks would get it together at some point,” Frypan says gleefully from the stove. Newt’s eyes roll skyward exasperatedly and Thomas just laughs. 

 

“There, that’s it,” Thomas says, tapping a marker on the map that they’ve decided is the city. “It’s a few hundred miles. Based on the railways, everything that Aris told us, that’s gotta be where they’re headed. That’s where they’re taking Minho. We take everyone who can fight, follow the roads where we can - we can make it back within a week.”

“A week,” Vince says disbelievingly. “It took us six months to get _here._ We got over a hundred kids here now. We can’t hang out here forever, after what we just pulled? You wanna…wander off to some random point on the map? You don’t even know what’s there!”

“I do.”

Everyone swivels to see Jorge kick off the doorway and make his way inside. He gestures to the map. “It’s been a few years, but…I’ve been there. The Last City; that’s what WCKD called it. It was their whole base of operations.” He moves to stand next to Vince, looking at Thomas doubtfully. “If that city is still standing, that’s the last place you wanna go, _hermano._ That’s the lion’s den.”

Thomas shrugs. “It’s nothing we haven’t done before.”

“Yeah,” Vince interrupts, “With months of planning, reliable information, the element of surprise – none of which we have now.”

“Guys, I’ve thought this through, just hear me out –“

“Last time we went off half-cocked, I lost everything!” Vince shouts, effectively cutting Thomas off. “You remember that?”

Thomas sighs. He does, all too well. Vince leans forward, taking a deep breath.

“Look, I know it’s Minho, alright? But you can’t ask me to put those kids on the line for one man.” He shakes his head. “I won’t do it.”

Thomas doesn’t know how else to convince him, because he’s right. His logic, however irritating, is sound.

A crackling of static on the radio behind Newt breaks through their silence, garnering everyone’s attention. A few indecipherable words come through before a loud hum from above pulls their gazes upward in confusion. It’s another moment before the realization hits them simultaneously: it’s a Berg, and it’s about to find their camp.

Thomas and Jorge yell at the same time and they scatter. Jorge slams the breakers off as Vince and Thomas rush outside, watching the lights go out one by one. The entire camp is plunged into darkness, and in the distance, Thomas can see the Berg and its searchlights hovering over decimated skyscrapers.

“Jeez,” Vince mutters. “They’re gettin’ close.”

Far too close. Closer than they’ve ever been to discovery.

As they watch the Berg fly farther away, Thomas knows Vince will never agree to his plan. He can’t hold it against him, though. It’s risky, nowhere near foolproof, and the amount of lives that would be on the line far outweigh the possibility of success.

_Lives on the line._

_Oh, god, no._

With a punch to his gut, he realizes that this whole time, Newt has been planning on going with him. It would have been fine if they had the support of the camp with them, but they’re on their own now. The plan could still work, he knows, but they’re going to have to separate from Vince.

And they won’t have any backup, which means the chances of them not coming back just skyrocketed.

His heart plummets all the way to his feet. He doesn’t want to go without Newt, not at all, but he’d rather sleep knowing that Newt is safe and out of harm’s way.

He’s not giving up on Minho, but he’s not dragging the one he loves down with him.

“You’re right,” he says to Vince, pulling himself out of it. “We can’t stay here.”

Vince nods, apparently glad that he’s finally seeing sense, and he gives him a fatherly squeeze to the shoulder before walking away, satisfied.

Thomas looks up to see a shadow leaning in the doorway, watching him. He swallows, steeling himself.

“He’s not going for it,” Newt guesses once Thomas meets him. Thomas shakes his head.

“He wants to get out of here as soon as possible.”

Newt nods, crossing his arms over his chest. “So what are we going to do?”

“We go with him,” Thomas says, keeping his voice as steady as he can.

Newt’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What about Minho?”

“Vince is desperate to move somewhere safer, and he’s right. We need some more time to think this through.”

“Tommy…”

“I’m not giving up, okay? We’re not, I promise. We’re just…putting things on hold.” The words taste sour on his tongue. _We’re putting Minho on hold_ is what Newt must be hearing, and Thomas hates it.

Newt finally heaves a sigh, rubbing at his eyes. “Alright. On hold.” He drops his hands, looking at Thomas tiredly. “But soon, okay?”

“I swear, Newt. Soon.”

Newt nods, and Thomas has to restrain himself from exhaling in relief. After a moment, he realizes with a start that this could very well be the last time they’re going to see each other. 

He should say something. He should tell Newt he loves him again.

But then someone calls Newt’s name from inside, and he offers Thomas a tired smile before turning away and disappearing.

Thomas pushes away the horrible foreboding feeling in his stomach. _You’re coming back,_ he tells himself firmly. _You and Minho. You’re both coming back. To Newt._

 

Really, he should’ve known from the moment he noticed that Newt wasn’t in his mess of blankets right next to Thomas’ mess of blankets. Newt has always, _always_ seen straight through him.

“Where do you think you’re going, then?”

The light clicks on and there he is, thigh holster and all, looking unsurprised and smug as can be. Thomas sighs. He really should have known.

“Newt –“

“Don’t be a twat about it,” Newt warns, walking up to him and grabbing his bag. “I’m already in. Come on.”

“No,” Thomas protests, trailing behind him. “No, not this time. Look, even if we find Minho…there’s no guarantee we make it back from this.”

Newt turns around, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Well, you’ll need all the help you can get then, won’t you?”

He opens the driver’s door and there sits Frypan, looking at him like _you really thought you were going to sneak off without us?_ Thomas can’t help but smile at his friends’ dedication. There’s no way he’s swaying them now, and as the protective part of himself signs off, the selfish part is relieved.

Newt leans back against the car, looking at him expectantly. “We started this together,” he says softly. “We may as well end it that way too.”

Thomas knows that it isn’t his choice to make. Newt and Frypan were Minho’s friends long before Thomas ever came along, and deep down he knows it’s just as much their right, if not more so, to go after him.

“Okay,” he finally says. _Into the lion’s den it is._ “Let’s go get him back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _do you know how many times i watched the first twenty minutes of tdc to make sure i got all this right_
> 
> ya'll know what chapter 4 is, these same events from our fave boy newt's pov, and it will be out...yknow. when it's out. whenever that will be. (i churned this out in like 48 hours okay i need a BREAK)
> 
> thank you so so much for reading and commenting, i really do love all of it!! you can always yell at me on tumblr [here](https://dustinhendrsn.tumblr.com) <3


	4. chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> four months since the last chapter??? i don't know what you're talking about

Newt doesn’t have time to question Thomas’ decision on which train car is Minho’s. Every instinct in him is telling him to slow down and recalculate, to survey and think it out, but he knows they don’t have time for that. Thomas is counting on his trust, and trusting him is the only thing Newt can do right about now, so he gets to work burning through the metal.

The gunshots come around as predicted, loud and sharp and hostile. He covers himself as best he can and lets Thomas and Vince do the rest. _For Minho. For Minho. For Minho._

A year ago - hell, even a few months ago - he might not have particularly cared if he got hit. But now he’s got things to live for, things that make him second-guess it all. The Safe Haven, a shot at life beyond the hell he’s been living in. Minho, and Frypan, and Thomas. _Thomas._

 _Not now._ He pushes everything to the back of his mind as the aforementioned Thomas yells at him from the top of the car.

“Newt, get up here!”

“Almost there,” he calls back.

Finally, his hands prickling and sweaty inside the thick gloves, the welding snaps and falls off. Vince pushes at him and he discards his gear to climb the ladder, collapsing next to Thomas just before another bullet zips overhead. He wonders if he imagines the sigh of relief that comes from Thomas.

“Where the hell are they?” The Berg hasn’t shown up yet and they’re running out of time, out of ammo.

Thomas shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

It’s not too late for their plan to fall to pieces. God knows it never is.

But by some unfathomable miracle, it doesn’t. At the last moment, as shots fly and ping off the steel car and Newt’s swearing under his breath reaches a peak, the sky starts to hum and the air starts to whirl. The Berg flies into view and hovers over them, Brenda releasing its hook and cable without hesitation.

Gunshots punctuate the spaces between each moment. They move as fast as possible: cables, cables, loops on the hook. _Don’t these soldiers ever run out of ammo?_ Newt doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop flinching at the feeling of bullets whizzing past him. He doesn’t have enough hands to count all the near-misses he’s had in this life.

The last link slides onto the hook; Thomas shouts up and Newt yells down. Vince needs to get on or he’s not going to enjoy where he ends up.

Newt scrambles backwards as Jorge veers upwards and the car starts swaying. After a glance to make sure Thomas isn’t about to slide off (which he _would_ do) he grabs on to one of the cables that’s now being pulled taut. A loud whine comes from the car being lifted off its broken supports, and Thomas yells at Vince warningly. 

He finally appears over the edge, bullets ricocheting off his footsteps. Newt does a headcount – all five of them are there. No casualties, not even any injuries. They’re all safe, a concept that feels impossible at this point. He looks down to the rapidly shrinking desert floor, coated in an expanse of blue sky. The WCKD soldiers are still shooting but it’s futile. They’re going higher and higher and away and away and _home._

Thomas is the first to let out a cheer and Newt’s breath comes surging out of his lungs in a laugh. They’re done. Months of trying and failing, and they’ve finally reached their goal. He wraps his arms around Thomas and buries his face into his shoulder.

He feels words come out of his mouth, something painted with victory, and Thomas probably says something back, but he really doesn’t know because he’s just realized this is his second win in twenty-four hours. First Thomas, now Minho. 

And goddamn, it feels _good._

 

Every moment he spent in the maze was another drop of cynicism into his once-bright spirit, and every single day he regrets that he let himself wade in those low, dark ponds. It’s this cynicism and hopelessness that comes crawling up from its permanent place in his gut when his eyes fail to find Minho’s in the train car and their victorious illusion shatters. It laughs when Thomas’ shoulders go slack and he says _he’s not here,_ his voice drenched in devastation. It taunts him, says _I told you so, I warned you not to get your hopes up, you knew better._

All that’s left underneath these shadows when he and Thomas emerge into the harsh, unforgiving daylight is the spiraling question of _what now?_ What’s the next step? Do they give up? Have they reached the end of the line? Do they move on? What about Minho?

 _Oh, Minho._ A fresh wave of grief overtakes Newt. He’s felt so, so lost the past six months without his friend. Despite Thomas holding half of his heart, Minho has the other, and he hurts for the missing piece every day.

He retreats into himself and leaves Thomas with barely more than a word, wandering as he only halfheartedly attempts to answer his own questions about _what now?_ He doesn’t understand why fate decided to fuck them over. Don’t they deserve a win, after all they’ve been through and all they’ve sacrificed and all they’ve seen? Why do they keep braving the storm only to have the lightning strike them down?

The most frustrating part is that Newt always seems to be the one they turn to in the dark. His role, who he is - it’s inked right there on the back of his neck: _The Glue._ He doesn’t mind being a shoulder to lean on, the one looked to for advice, the mediator. More often than not he’s glad he stands in the middle, because there were times in the Glade where they all might’ve torn each other apart had Newt not been there. He loves his friends; he hates when they’re hurting and he’d do anything for them, he would. But he’s just one exhausted man. He can’t keep the fire burning all night long.

 _Stop pitying yourself,_ a stern voice says in his mind. His worst enemy has always been his own vicious thought cycle. To break it, he focuses on seeking out the stone building Harriet has been staying in.

She’s standing over a kettle at the rusted stove when he opens the door. She looks up at him without surprise. “I figured you’d be around here sooner or later,” she says by way of explanation.

He shrugs. She doesn’t offer any sympathy or words of consolation, and he’s glad for it. Harriet has always been reliable in the stiff-upper-lip department and Newt needs some of that resolve right now.

“Tea?” she asks. He nods, draping his heavy coat over the back of a rickety old chair.

“How’re Sonya and Aris doing?”

Her eyes momentarily flick to another closed door in the house, presumably to the room where the two Group B kids are resting, and Newt catches a flicker of softness on her expression. _Well, almost reliable,_ he thinks. He’s noticed that she’s pretty much putty when it comes to those two.

“They’ll be okay,” she says, handing him a warm clay mug. The wafting steam smells strongly of mint, and it eases his spinning mind just a little. 

A few minutes slide by in companionable silence, the hot tea clouding most of Newt’s thoughts and giving him a bit of reprieve. He absently stares at the wall, Harriet keeps the kettle warm, they try to have a bit of peace, but finally, they can’t ignore the fact that a new plan has to be made.

“Sonya and Aris should be well rested enough to talk by now,” she says, filling two more mugs. “You wanna go get Thomas?”

 

Sonya and Aris tell them all they know and Newt’s ready to put his fist through a wall by the time Harriet sends them away. He can’t believe how close they were. Minho probably heard them, and then they fucked it all up and just left him there. Did he even know it was him that they wanted? What if he thought they decided he wasn’t the first priority, that they were there for a more important target? 

_God, Min, nothing out here is more important than you right now. Please know that._

Newt stands outside the stone building in an angry and frustrated haze and Brenda leans against the wall next to him, both of them watching Thomas trudge down to the beach.

“You gonna go after him?” Brenda asks. He glances at her.

“Thomas?” Of course he’s going to go after Thomas; he always does. But they both need a minute alone first.

Brenda gives a small shake of her head. “Minho.”

Newt sighs, running his thumb over his lip. “Yeah. Can’t not.” 

It won’t be an easy or a fun trip. But as tired as he is, every fiber of him knows they can’t give up. Minho has been a constant in his life, always there for him regardless of the circumstances, and Newt knows he’ll never sleep again if they just leave him in the wind. Even the thought of it makes his stomach turn and leaves a sour taste in his mouth. _I’m not giving up on you, Minho._

“My help is here if you need it,” Brenda says. Newt looks at her gratefully.

“Thanks, Brenda.”

She nods. Newt turns away and heads down to the beach, to Thomas. The ocean is wild today, glittering blue waves cresting in whitecaps. Newt’s eyes find the horizon, the point where sea meets sky and the world tips off into the unknown. One day, eventually, he wants to wake up in peace and sit on the beach with the waves washing over his feet and watch the sun rise at that far off point. When this apocalypse is over and his friends and his loves are all safe, _then_ he can finally shed the weight off his shoulders and just _be._

One day.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says once he comes to Thomas’ side, crossing his arms over his chest. In his periphery he sees Thomas look over.

“What?”

“That this is your fault.”

Thomas sighs. “How is it _not,_ Newt? I was the one who had to choose the train car. That whole decision was on me.”

“It’s a mistake anyone could have made, Tommy. If it were me, I probably would have done the exact same thing.” A beat of silence passes and when Newt looks over, he realizes with a wave of sorrow that Thomas probably feels like he failed Newt, that Newt resents him for all that went wrong today. “I don’t blame you for it,” he adds sternly, because he doesn’t, at all.

He watches Thomas stare out at the edge of the ocean for a minute, the water reflecting off his eyes. _Let it go, love._

“I don’t know where to go from here,” Thomas says quietly, finally meeting Newt’s gaze. The defeat in his voice makes Newt’s heart twist. “We have no more leads, no more information.” He spreads his hands in a helpless gesture. “That was our only shot at getting him back.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Newt says. “You heard what Aris and the girls said about the city.”

Thomas gives him an exasperated look. “Yeah, they said it wasn’t _standing._ None of them are, apparently.”

Newt lets out a heavy sigh. _I’m trying, Minho, I am, but I need Tommy with me. I can’t do this without him._

“I don’t know, Newt,” Thomas finally says on an exhale, looking at him desperately. “Is there a line somewhere? Isn’t there a point where it becomes too selfish to keep putting Minho over Vince and all these kids? Have we reached it yet?”

Even though he’s just echoing the thoughts that have been ricocheting around Newt’s mind for months now, it’s a shock to hear the words actually come out of his mouth with such an empty taint to them.

“You’re not bloody giving up,” Newt says, half alarmed question, half demand. Thomas gives a helpless shrug.

“We have next to nothing. I have no idea what to do now; I don’t know where to go or how to get there, I don’t -“

It’s just so _wrong_ and so unlike the unflinching, loyal-to-the-letter _Thomas_ that Newt has come to love that he can’t hear any more of it.

“I don’t care,” he says sharply.

“What?”

His next words come without hesitation or thought, poured straight from his heart and unfiltered into the air because he’s been carrying them around for ages and it’s about damn time he got them out. “I have meant everything I’ve ever said to you, Thomas. When we were in the middle of the Scorch, lost and hopeless, I told you that I wasn’t going to let you give up. I meant every word of that. Last night? I meant that too. I love you -“ he stumbles, only for a moment, because saying it takes his breath away, “- and I love you because you have never given up, not for a single second. You keep pushing and moving and you have _never_ let me down and you have _never_ stopped fighting for what you know is _right. That’s_ why I love you, and that’s why I will follow you to the ends of this earth without question. I will be at your side with whatever plan you decide on but you and I both know that Minho would never, _ever_ give up on us. He wouldn’t, so we can’t give up on him, Tommy. We _can’t._ ”

He takes a deep breath, suddenly nervous because this isn’t just about Minho right now, it’s about him and Thomas and what waits ahead of them and what if Thomas decides he actually doesn’t want it?

Thomas hesitates for just a second, and then his shoulders relax, his eyes brightening as he nods. “You’re right. He wouldn’t give up on us.”

 _You worry too much, shank,_ Minho whispers in Newt’s mind. Newt lets out a sigh of relief. “No, he wouldn’t.”

“Okay,” Thomas says, evidently pulling himself together. Newt can see his gears spinning behind his eyes again. “We can make this work. We can figure this out.” He pauses, a familiar and somewhat mischievous smile finding its way to his face. “You’d really follow me anywhere?”

 _Yes, yes, yes._ Newt huffs a laugh. “What, do you not believe me?”

“Of course I do, I just -“

He reaches out to tug Thomas’ hand from his pocket, pulling him closer and wrapping an arm around his waist. “Yes. I really would.”

His heart aches with the truth of it. _I would, I will, it’ll probably be the death of me and I don’t care at all._

Thomas sighs contentedly, leaning his forehead against Newt’s. “Okay,” he breathes. “I love you. Just in case you didn’t get the message last night.”

Newt smiles. “I did.”

“Good.”

Thomas opens his eyes, and Newt’s heart skips a beat at all he sees there.

“I need a map.”

 

They move to the kitchen for the rest of the evening. Frypan helps, his mood immediately shifting into his humming over the stove once they let him know they’re pressing on towards Minho. Newt goes through five mugs of tea and the sun disappears behind the horizon while they’re there, but finally they have something tangible, something that’s a step in the right direction. A step towards Minho.

“Vince is going to be hard to get on board,” Thomas says when the light is gone from the sky, glancing the maps spread around them before looking up at Newt worriedly.

It’ll be more than hard, Newt knows. None of them are stupid; they’re fully aware that the tapestry of their plan is full of holes and unknowns and could unravel at the first tug. But they don’t have any other options.

“Maybe,” he concedes.

“He could make or break this -“

On impulse alone, Newt leans across the counter and takes Thomas’ face in his hands. He kisses him, deeply and surely and it leaves him more breathless than he’d like to admit.

“ _Don’t_ worry about Vince, alright?” he says firmly, eyes locked on Thomas’ slightly bewildered ones.

Thomas nods and Newt lets him go, holding in a laugh at his stupefied state. Frypan starts cackling behind them, and honestly, Newt had forgotten he was there. And Fry is never, ever going to stop teasing them now that he knows. He’ll tell Jorge, and Jorge will tell Brenda, and Brenda will tell Sonya and Harriet and Aris and eventually Minho, and they’ll all be absolute hell to deal with.

But Thomas just laughs with him, and Newt smiles, and it really isn’t that big of a deal after all.

 

Vince does not like their plan.

“I know it’s Minho, alright?” he says, eyes boring into Thomas’. “But you can’t ask me to put all these kids on the line for one man.” He shakes his head. “I won’t do it.”

Newt expected as much. It’ll just have to be him and Thomas and Frypan, then. _We’ll make it work. We have to._

Thomas lets out a resigned sigh. A sharp crackle of static interrupts their tense silence, and Newt swivels around to stare at their radio. Their only source of WCKD intel has been either silent or unhelpful about ninety percent of the time, but now there are voices coming through. He only catches a few words before a loud humming reaches their ears.

_Fuck._

_“Get the lights!”_

Newt abandons his mug of tea at the table, moving to one of the doorways as Jorge flips the breakers. The camp falls into darkness and Newt stares up at the sky, watching as a Berg searches the nearby abandoned cityscape. Its green lights blink and flash and finally fade, and it’s just luck and chance that they haven’t been discovered yet. Newt breathes a sigh of relief. Luck and chance. 

He crosses the room to lean inside the doorway that opens up onto the beach and he sees Thomas and Vince talking. He knows that any hopes they had of getting Vince on their side just got butchered. 

_Doesn’t matter. I’m getting you, Minho, whether the universe wants me to or not._

Vince treks back up to the building and exchanges a tired nod with Newt as he passes. A few moments later Thomas follows, coming to a stop in front of Newt.

“He’s not going for it,” Newt guesses. Thomas sighs and shakes his head.

“He wants to get out of here as soon as possible. 

“So what are we going to do?”

He’s fully prepared for Thomas to say _we take off anyways, just us, because we already discussed this and because Minho needs us and it doesn’t matter if we don’t have Vince on our side._ What he _isn’t_ prepared for is when Thomas, after a beat of hesitation, says, “We go with him.”

Newt narrows his eyes. “What about Minho?”

Thomas looks almost apologetic. “Vince is desperate to move somewhere safer, and he’s right. We need some more time to think this through.”

 _This is wrong, wrong, wrong._ Newt knows something is off immediately; it’s the same sense of _wrong_ that he felt when Thomas talked about giving up. This isn’t the Thomas Newt kissed earlier, because _that_ Thomas wouldn’t bullshit him like this. 

It only takes him a second to figure it out, because it’s such a ridiculously _Thomas_ thing to do. Since they don’t have Vince with them, the plan just got infinitely more dangerous and the chances of them coming back in one piece have plummeted from possible to not probable.

Thomas would never willingly bring any of his friends on a mission that would endanger them. It’s just not something he can even entertain. He knows Newt and Frypan will want to go with him regardless, but because he’s too damn good, he’ll leave on his own. Probably when everyone’s asleep. Probably tonight.

It’s not like Newt wasn’t expecting it. But the lie stings a little.

“Tommy…” _You bastard. I tell you I love you and then you want to leave me here so you can go risk your neck while trying to rescue_ my _best friend. You absolute bastard._

“I’m not giving up, okay? We’re not, I promise. We’re just…” Thomas takes a deep breath, but it sounds fake now that Newt knows his intentions. “Putting things on hold.”

Newt wants to kick him in the shin, but he sighs, knowing he’ll have to let it go for now or Thomas might lock him in a storage closet just to keep him here.

“Alright,” he says, rubbing his eyes. That part isn’t acting - he’s exhausted. It’s been a long, long day. “On hold. But soon, okay?”

Thomas nods. “I swear, Newt. Soon.”

They stare at each other for a moment, and Newt admires the way the moonlight makes Thomas’ eyes sparkle. He’s contemplating kissing him again, just because he can, but then Harriet calls him from inside and he settles on a tired smile before turning away.

I’m on my way, Minho. I promise. I’m on my way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's that, yall!! this fic was my first time writing for tmr and it's been a wonderful little ride. thank you guys so so _so_ much for reading this, for sticking around, and especially for all your kind comments; each one truly makes my day and it's people like you that make writers want to keep writing!  <3 yell at me on my [tumblr](https://dustinhendrsn.tumblr.com)


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